


Chrysanthemum

by WanderingTiff



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Coronary Artery Disease, M/M, The Notebook Crossover, Wisteria AU, senior citizens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingTiff/pseuds/WanderingTiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are in their early seventies, but Jean had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Marco is devastated because his husband does not remember him. His husband doesn't even realize that he had come out of the closet a very long time ago and has been married to his sweetheart for almost fifty years and had two children together. Determined, Marco visits him almost every single day and reads to him his own autobiography to try and trigger his memory for just one day.</p><p>The Notebook Crossover, based off of the Wisteria Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysanthemum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butterflychansan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflychansan/gifts).



> A depressing gift for butterflychansan (Sorry, Claudia)
> 
> Everyone that has read my outline knows that this was coming. But just please, don't hate on me too harshly. This was heart-wrenching and very emotional for me to write. This is the first fic that I wrote where I actually started crying. I already feel bad enough for having this idea, just please don't make me feel worse.
> 
> But if you do like it, that's okay, too. All quotes from Forget Me Not obviously all belong to butteflychansan, for it was based off of her series. (This ending is NOT canon, it's just an alternate ending/crossover)
> 
> Find me on tumblr: shingeki-no-flute-fluff.tumblr.com

**April 7, 2059**

_It happened on Jean’s seventieth birthday._ Marco had a whole day planned to celebrate his husband reaching the big seven-zero. He had gone back to the room after making some food. He saw that Jean was awake and smiled.

“Happy birthday, Officer,” he murmured, even though Jean had retired a couple of years earlier.

It was the look his husband was giving him that made him feel uneasy. Jean’s eyes were shifting to look all around the room, his focus periodically changing as if he was examining, like he had never seen this area before. He then looked at Marco when he spoke.

 “…Who are you?” He sounded scared.

 Marco tensed as he looked at him. “Jean, you know who I am,” he smiled. “Stop joking with me, old man.”

 “’Old man?’” Jean looked down at his hands, which showed aging veins and worn out fingers from over fifty years of strenuous use. “Who are you?”

 As Jean was raising his voice, he realized that he was not joking. He did notice that over the past couple of years, Jean was a bit disoriented. He had forgotten where they were when they were out somewhere. He remembered that one day Jean thought that a little boy on the street was their son, Theo. Marco had to lead his husband away from the child because he had started following him and disturbing other pedestrians. There were a few instances where the younger of the two was indeed joking, and they would laugh about it.But this was serious. This never happened before, where Jean would just look at Marco like he had never seen him in his entire life. Did he really not know who he was?

“Jean… I’m Marco,” he insisted slowly. “I’m your husband.”

“Husband?” He looked appalled. “I’m not gay.”

 That’s what did it. He knew he needed serious help. Jean had not tried denying his sexuality since their relationship started getting more serious.

 “I’m going to call a doctor,” Marco stammered before getting out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 _Marco sat in the waiting room_ patiently. He was getting anxious though. Alexandra and Theo were here as well, since they were just as worried about their father as Marco was.

Alexandra glanced at him. “Will he be okay, Dad?”

He nodded a bit as he hugged his daughter. “I’m sure he will be. He’s a strong guy.”

Theo sighed. “What if something is really wrong with him?”

“Then we will find a way to help him,” he insisted. “Don’t worry.”

They had to wait another few moments before a doctor came over to them.

“Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt?”

Marco stood up slowly. “How is he?”

“Fine,” he assured him. “He will be okay. However, there is something you should know.”

He nodded quickly. “Please tell me.”

The doctor gave him a solemn look. “Your husband has Alzheimer’s. He is in the moderate stage. This is why he cannot remember you. Judging by the answers he has given us, he had gone back to the mental state he had at the age of eighteen.”

He froze and looked towards the room from which the doctor had come from. “Eighteen?” he echoed.

At eighteen Jean had started going to the art school. At eighteen they first met when Jean was toppled over by his pathetic excuse of luggage on the first day. At eighteen they first started their relationship. How could Jean not remember who he was if he was supposedly back to the mental age of eighteen?

“I am sorry, Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt.” The doctor’s voice took him out of his thoughts. “He is going to have to be retained in a care center, where he will be taken care of. It is not healthy for either of you to go through this every day.”

Marco hid his face in his hand as he sighed. He did not want to keep going through life without Jean lying next to him as they slept. The last thing he wanted was for them to be apart again. They were both aging fast, and Marco wanted to spend these last few years growing old together peacefully.

 In the end he just nodded. As much as he wanted this fantasy, he needed to think about Jean’s well-being. “I understand.”

 _They’re not going to keep us apart that easily,_ he decided. _I will find a way._

* * *

 

**June 8, 2064**

_It’s been five years since that_ day. Jean had been staying in a residential care center miles away from his old home. Every morning he woke up and a nice woman explained to him where he was and what day it was. Every night he went to sleep and had vague dreams. This cycle was constant and gave him a feeling of stability.

He saw little flowers on his windowsill, and he tilted his head. And right next to that was a sunflower that looked somewhat familiar. He shrugged it off though. As soon as he did an aid had walked in.

“Good morning, Mr. Kirschtein,” she smiled. “My name is Carrie, and I will be taking care of you today.”

 “Good morning.” Carrie helped him sit up. “Can you tell me where I am?”

 “Certainly.” She smiled politely. “You are in a residential care center in the state of Vermont. Today is June eighth, 2064.”

“2064?” he echoed in surprise. “Damn, I’m old, then.”

“You’ve aged gracefully, Mr. Kirschtein,” she chuckled. “Come on. I will show you around.”

Carrie helped the older man get dressed, for he kept trying to fit both of his arms in one sleeve and put his pants on backwards. He could walk just fine as long as he had a cane, so Carrie led him out. Another nurse greeted them as they passed by.

“Good morning,” she smiled.

“Hello, I’m Jean,” he waved and smiled a little.

“Hi, Jean.” The nurse grinned. She then looked at Carrie. “He’s here.”

"Already?” Carrie looked at Jean. “Mr. Kirschtein, there’s someone here that wants to meet you.”

He was honestly curious. He did not know who would be coming to visit him. Judging by how old he was, he didn’t think his parents were around or his older brothers.

He lost his train of thought when he saw a man walk into the room. He looked about the same age he was, maybe a bit older. His back was surprisingly straight, and Jean could just barely see the freckles that dotted his wrinkled face. He was holding a large book of some sort.

Carrie smiled. “Mr. Kirschtein, this is Marco Bodt.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off of the man—Marco, that’s his name. He looked so friendly, and he smiled at him, revealing a row of false but perfect teeth.

“Hello, Mr. Kirschtein,” he greeted.

Jean smiled a bit. “Hello, Marco. Call me Jean.”

"It’s nice to meet you.” Marco held out his hand, and Jean slowly shook it.

“Nice to meet you too.”

Marco let go of his hand and stood next to him. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

"Okay.” They walked together slowly, and Jean kept looking around. “So Marco, what brings you here?”

  “Oh. I live around here. I take my time to get to know other people. I’m really friendly.”

“I’ve noticed.” Jean mumbled. They walked outside, and they sat down at a table. He looked around. “What was your job? I’m assuming you’re retired.”

“I am,” he chuckled. “I owned a flower shop.”

“So you were a florist?”

“What other profession would require owning a flower shop?” he grinned. “I sold it years ago, though. I got too old.”

 Jean glanced at the bushes next to them, since the flowers that blossomed along it had a strange familiarity. “So, you know what those are?”

He followed his gaze and nodded. “Yes. Those are hydrangeas.”

“Hydrangeas,” he mused. “I saw some in my room this morning on my windowsill. Don’t they symbolize heartfelt emotions?”

Marco quickly looked at him, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yes, they do.” He placed the book he was holding down on the table.

Jean raised a brow. “Whatcha  got there?”

 “What, this?” He smiled at Jean. “Someone very near and dear to me wrote a story. It’s called _Forget Me Not._ ”

“Isn’t that the name of another flower?”

“Yes,” he chuckled and nodded. “Do you want me to read it aloud? I’ll warn you though, as a narrator the main character’s got quite the potty mouth.”

 “’Potty mouth?’” he laughed. “We’re like, what…seventy-five? And you still say ‘potty mouth?’”

 “Excuse you, I actually turn seventy-six on the sixteenth,” he chided matter-of-factly. “Don’t judge me. Do you want me to read, Jean?”

 Jean nodded. “Sure, why not. I’ve got time.”

“Okay.” He smiled and then opened the book. He took a deep breath before reading. _“It was me and a pile of shit stacked shoulder level on one side of my new dorm room. That’s my first memory of college. Standing in the empty bedroom by myself, wondering whether I should unpack before or after I ripped my goddamn clothes off in celebration. Did it matter? No. Was anyone going to tell me otherwise? Fuck no._

_“Was I finally free? Yes.”_

Jean stopped him. “You weren’t kidding when you said he had a potty mouth.”

Marco smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

He continued reading to Jean, and he started laughing a bit when reaching one of the later paragraphs.

_“…I got up and pulled the door open from the inside. And got hit right in the face with a stack of crap: canvases and sketchbooks, and a laundry basket stuffed to the keels with clothes. Flowing like an avalanche of shit into the room, there was impressive weight behind it, and more stuff that he’d stacked against the wall, taking me surprise—_

_“Basically, I fell on my ass in the doorway, covered with his stuff._

_“’Oh my god,’ said the voice, ‘I killed my roommate.’_

_“’Nice to meet you too,’ I replied, through gritted teeth, my vision going starry.”_

Jean interrupted. “This other character sounds really unorganized.”

“Excuse you,” he gasped. “He is not.”

“No need to get defensive over it.” The couple then laughed over it.

Marco continued reading like this for hours. His tone kept changing as he would continue. Soon it was starting to get too late.

_“…’Someday,’ he said very softly, ‘I’m gonna kiss you in front of everyone, and you’re not going to care.’”_

Jean rubbed his face from drowsiness and sighed. It was about sunset. “You know, it’s kinda weird this guy has the same name as me.”

Marco sighed. “Yeah, it is. That’s why I was so excited to meet you today. When they said that your name was Jean, I just couldn’t help but meet you so that I could read this thing to you.”

“Don’t you know any other Jeans?”

Marco shook his head. “Nope. You’re the only one.”

“I see,” he nodded.

Carrie walked over to their table. “Mr. Kirschtein? It’s time to get ready for bed.”

He sighed and nodded. He looked at Marco. “Hey, Marco. Do you think you could come back tomorrow? I want to hear how that story ends.”

Marco smiled. “I’ll be here every day, Jean.”

_Every day._

Jean nodded. “Okay. Good night, Marco.”

“Good night, Jean.” Marco watched him leave and then lowered his head. The same nurse from earlier walked over to him.

“Are you all right, Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt?” she murmured.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. He did well today. He knew the symbolism of hydrangeas.”

“He’s learning,” she insisted and smiled. “How do you do it? It must be devastating having to reintroduce yourself to the one you love.”

“It is, in a way,” he confessed. “But I’m determined. I love my husband, and I’m not going to give up on him.”

The nurse sighed. “That’s so romantic.”

 _“Romantic?” You call trying to fully trigger an aging spouse’s memory just for a day romantic? It’s not romantic. It’s devastating. It’s fucking hard._ There was something wrong with people these days. Marco did not find this romantic at all. He just wanted his husband back, to be like how things used to be. To hear him call him “Sweetheart.” That was what he wanted.

Every day for the past five years he felt like giving up, but every day he also felt more determined. He wanted to always be there for him, even on the worst days.

By now the nurse had left him alone. He took this time to head back outside. Behind the hydrangea bushes he had hidden a small floral arrangement. Today he had gotten snapdragons. Marco went back inside. He knew where Jean’s room was, so he had to sneak in there.

The hydrangeas stood out proudly on the windowsill. He smiled and placed the snapdragons next to them. The sunflower that he placed in here a couple of days earlier was now drooping a little, so he quietly picked it up. He made sure not to disturb Jean, who was sleeping soundly now.

“Every day, Jean,” he whispered silently before slowly walking out.

 

* * *

 

**November 7, 2064**

_Jean looked at the small sedum_ arrangement that was next to the heleniums. He was sitting up in the bed, trying to think for a minute. He was aware of where he was today. He was at the residential care center. But that meant...

 _Damn it, what day is it? What_ year _is it?_

An aid walked into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Kirschtein,” she smiled. “My name is Carrie, and I will be taking care of you today.”

“Can you tell me what day it is, Carrie?” Jean whispered softly. “I’m confused.”

“Certainly,” she answered politely. “Today is November seventh, 2064.”

“2064?” he echoed in surprise. “Damn, I must be pretty old, then.”

“You’ve aged gracefully,” she chuckled. “Come on. I will show you around.”

The nurse helped him get dressed after she had helped him bathe, since he was struggling to do so on his own. This felt so surreal to Jean, but he most likely did not have a choice whether or not to let this woman help him with everything.

Carrie led him to a sitting area, and his eyes stopped their wandering when seeing a man sitting in a chair amongst the other seniors. He seemed different from them, almost trustworthy and easy-going. Maybe it was the freckles that drew the attention from his wrinkles that made him seem this way.

Jean waved at him. “Hello.”

The man smiled at him and waved back. “Hello.”

“Mr. Kirschtein, this is Mr. Marco Bodt,” Carrie murmured.

Jean smiled. “Call me Jean, though. No need to be formal.”

Marco got up slowly and they shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Jean.”

“Nice too meet you, too.” Jean looked towards the doors that would lead the way outside. “How’s the weather out there?”

“You’re better off in here,” Marco grumbled. “It’s cold out, and my knees are still creaking.”

“Okay,” he chuckled and sat down slowly. “So…Marco. What was your profession?”

“That’s a silly question. But if you must know, I was a florist. I owned a flower shop, but I sold it a while back. I was getting too old to keep the business going.”

“That’s a shame,” he sighed. “Well, since you told me, I’ll tell you. I…I think I was a painter? Either that, or an officer?”

“You mean, you’re not sure?” Marco grinned. “Jean, a painter and an officer are two totally different things.”

“Hey, I’m old. Leave me be,” he chided.

They laughed it off and then had a decent conversation as they sat on the couch. They were just basically talking about their surroundings. They discussed on how one woman looked funny when chewing her banana bread, and how one of the aids looked ridiculous when he talked because he had his nose pointed up to the sky and would look up at the ceiling whenever he was addressed.

Jean paused when noticing that the older man—only by a year, but that’s still old—had a book in his hand.

“Hey, what’s that?”

“Hmm?” He looked down at the book. “Oh, this?” He smiled. “It’s a special book of mine. I carry it around with me everywhere. Someone very near and dear to me wrote a story that never got published. It’s called _Forget Me Not._ ”

“ _Forget Me Not,_ huh? Isn’t that a type of flower?”

“Yep,” he smiled. “Would you like me to read it?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded. “I don’t see why not.”

Marco nodded and smiled as he opened the book. He then started reading. _“It was me and a pile of shit stacked shoulder level on one side of my new dorm room….”_

 

* * *

 

**March 3, 2065**

_“_ And that is the story of _how I was realized that everything Marco did had meaning. Everything was layered and sacred and sincere with him; nothing was never just what it was. His touch, his thoughts, his smile. He lived steeped in story. I loved him. I liked him. I was blown away by him.”_

“This Jean character seems really poetic.”

“You think?” Marco smiled.

Jean nodded. “It wants to throw up, make me.”

He tilted his head. “Huh?”

“I-I meant, it throws to make me want up.”

“’It makes me want to throw up.’” Marco realized what he was trying to say, and they both said it together slowly. Then Marco laughed. “Oh, Jean. You still have yet to find out what happens.” …

 

* * *

 

**July 2, 2065**

“…Of all the things we could _have said. And neither of us said a word._

_“Marco pulled away just far enough to let him kiss me, long and deep and soft, the way he’d kissed me when I was scared, they way he kissed me the first time._

_“And then he let go of me._

_“And I hauled my duffel bag over my shoulder._

_“And I left.”_

“…Just like that?”

Marco looked up and wiped his eyes a little. No matter how many times he read this part, he would tear up every single time. He nodded. “It’s not like that, though. He decided that he wanted to be a police officer.”

“And he was denying his true feelings in the process. He was leaving his lover behind heartbroken. What the hell kind of man does something like that?” Jean was irritated. “I hate this story. Don’t read it anymore.”

Marco flinched. “But Jean—”

“No,” he muttered. “Put it away.”

He lowered his head in defeat and did as he was told. “I’m sorry, Jean.”

 

* * *

 

**August 12, 2066**

_“What’s that you got in your_ hand, Marco?”

“This?” Marco showed him the book. “It’s a very special book.” He paused and covered his mouth as he started coughing. There was a bit of a tight feeling in his chest, but he ignored it.

“You okay?” Jean chided.

He nodded. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. Tell me about this special book, then.”

‘It’s a book a close friend of mine wrote a long time ago,” he answered. “It’s called _Forget Me Not._ ”

“Like the flower?” Jean’s wrinkled face seemed to light up at the realization. “Hey, I saw forget-me-nots in my room this morning. They symbolize—”

“True love.”

They both said that in unison. They stared at each other, a little flustered. Then the old couple shied away from each other slightly and cleared their throats.

“Anyways,” Marco stammered. “Do you want me to read it?”

“Sure,” Jean nodded. “It sounds like it’s a really good story.”

“It is,” he smiled and opened the book, starting to read. _“It was me and a pile of shit stacked shoulder level on one side of my new dorm room. That’s my first memory of college….”_

 

* * *

 

**October 1, 2066**

_“I’m here—”_

_“To see Jean?”_ The receptionist finished Marco’s sentence and smiled. “You’ll have to talk to Carrie about that, you know.”

“Of course,” he nodded and then went further into the lobby. His heart was pounding at the moment, and he felt some discomfort.

Carrie went out to greet him. “Hello, Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt.”

“Hello,” he smiled. “Where’s Jean?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she stated. “Jean’s in no condition to see you today.”

Marco froze. “What do you mean?”

“He is not in the mood. He is not responding positively to my greetings, and his speech is currently incoherent. He needs to be alone today.”

It wasn’t the first time he had a bad day, so he understood, even though he hadn’t had a day like that in a while. He personally wanted to see him anyways, since he promised that he would be here every day, no matter how Jean felt. However, it was the policy of this center that he couldn’t see him in this state.

“Okay.” He decided it was best to just go home, and he turned to leave. That was when he suddenly felt like a fire ignited in his chest. It was a tight and overwhelming burn.

“Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt?”

Marco didn’t realize that he fell to the floor, and he clutched his chest tightly. “It hurts, it burns!” he rasped.

Carrie knelt down near him. “Hang in there. An ambulance will be here shortly.”

 

* * *

 

 _Marco did not know when he_ had lost consciousness. But some time later he woke up in a hospital bed. He listened to the rhythmic sound of the monitor and slowly opened his eyes. He glanced over and smiled weakly. Alexandra and Theo were here to see him. He was so glad that his children were here and that he was not going to be alone in this room.

“Dad?” Alex whispered.

“I’m okay,” he assured her softly.

Theo stood next to his older sister, watching her hold their father’s hand. “The doctor should be here shortly.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“…You’re going to be okay, right?”

“Theo, I’m sure that I will be. “ Marco smiled softly. “Don’t worry.”

The doctor knocked on the door before entering. She knew of the results, and she now had to tell Marco and his children. “Good, you are awake, Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt.”

Alexandra squeezed her father’s hand. “How is he?”

“We performed some diagnostic tests earlier before your father went unconscious.” She looked at them. “Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt, you have coronary artery disease.”

All three of them stiffened. Marco did not want to hear this. Not at all. Heart disease was definitely terminal, especially at his age.

“How serious is it?” Theo spoke up.

“Your father is seventy-eight years old. People with heart disease could go on living for several more years. However, along with him being at an older age, going through the disease has an undoubted chance of weakening him.”

Marco sighed deeply and hid his face in his hand. “How much time do I have left?”

“Dad, don’t jump to conclusions.” Alexandra’s eyes were watering, despite the fact she was trying to fight that urge. “You’re going to be fine. The doctor even said that people diagnosed could live a few years longer.”

The doctor waited a moment before answering. “It is terminal. You have six months left.”

His breath caught in his throat.

_Six months._

He had six months left to be with Jean. He had six months left until he had to leave him behind at that residential care center. Six months left until Jean would be all alone. Sure, his children were there, but they did not know how to go through the motions like a mockingly rigid routine.

There was still so much he needed to do. They never actually finished reading _Forget Me Not_ to him in one sitting. Every day that he had to leave he had to start over whenever they met again. Jean could never remember the story. He could never hold onto the memory long enough to realize that all along, the story was about him. It was written by him. It was his reminder of how much he loved Marco, and how long he had been struggling to stick to the norm. This was his great work that stood out amongst the many years of being a police officer, the quality of each of his paintings that he worked so hard on that his hands were no longer their proper shape.

He needed to still be reminded that he was Jean’s sweetheart. His love, his everything. Marco wanted to be called “sweetheart.” That name stuck to him like glue, and for seven years he felt this empty void now that he never got to hear him say it. He hadn’t called him that since the night before his seventieth birthday. The day that changed everything.

His children were just trying not to cry, but Marco felt a burning flame inside him spark. He was not going to give up. He had six months left, and he was not going to waste them lying in a bed thinking these horribly depressing thoughts. He was going to keep visiting Jean. He had promised him that he would. He promised that he would visit him every single day. And that was what he was going to do.

_I am not going to give up on you, Jean. I will see you tomorrow._

 

* * *

 

**December 23, 2066**

_“Mr. Kirschtein, this is Marco Bodt.”_

Carrie didn’t even know how many times she had introduced the two of them, but every time she did the moment was more beautiful in her mind. Here was this dying old man, still visiting and being faithful to his husband, who didn’t even know what day it was anymore. She thought that it was the most devoted, tender relationship that she had ever witnessed.

“Nice to meet you,” Jean smiled. “Please, call me Jean, though.”

Marco smiled and shook hands with him. “It’s nice to meet you too, Jean.”

The two of them sat down in two adjacent chairs.

“Christmas is coming,” Jean mused.

“You’re right,” he smiled.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to spend the day with my family.”

Jean tilted his head. “You have children?”

We _have children,_ Marco almost wanted to say. He had wanted to say that every time they were brought up. That was the one thing that was the two of theirs that he wanted Jean to know about, that he wanted him to be aware of so that they could fawn over how much they have grown and how proud they were of them. But he stopped himself and just nodded. “I have two children; a daughter and a son. Their names are Alexandra and Theo.”

“Those are nice names.” Jean smiled. “So, are you a grandpa too?”

He nodded. “I am. And I love my family so much. It’s always a pleasure when we see each other.”

“I’m sure it is,” he nodded.

Marco kept the book he always carried on his lap.

“What’s that you have on your lap?”

“This?” He showed him the book.

Jean nodded curiously.

Marco smiled. “It’s an old but really special book.”

“What is it, Shakespeare or something? Because then that book would be _really_ old.”

“No,” he laughed. “A close friend of mine wrote this story. It’s called _Forget Me Not._ ”

“Cool.” Jean shifted closer. “Can you read it to me?”

“Of course.” He smiled and opened the book. He then started reading from the same place he did every time he started: _“It was me and a pile of shit stacked shoulder level on one side of my new dorm room. That’s my first memory of college….”_

 

* * *

 

**February 1, 2067**

_“_ I was the one with the _words. And all I could say was his name._

_“It had been six years._

_“I said it over and over until the height of my wrecked voice shattered it hoarse, Marco, and I was choosing to say instead of choosing to breathe, Marco, and I didn’t care if anyone fucking heard me, Marco, I didn’t care, because Marco._

_“And after, when we found our way under the sheets of his bed and curled up around each other, I remembered thinking to myself, it’s you._

_“It has always been you.”_

Jean had been silent for a long time as he was listening to Marco read, so the older of the two paused.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

Jean nodded quietly. “I’m not going to lie, that was actually…a really romantic sex scene.”

Marco rubbed his brow and breathed out a weak laugh. His face was a little paler than it had been, and it looked more so because of his gray hair, that was starting to whiten with age.

“You’re right about that though.”

“Damn, Marco,” he laughed. He glanced at the time. “Hey, it’s eight o’clock.”

He nodded quietly. “Yep.”

“Carrie’s not here yet. Keep reading, please. I want to find out what happens.”

“Well, what do you think will happen?” Marco raised a brow.

Jean scoffed. “They’ll get together, obviously. Jean’s not with that Sasha girl anymore, technically. It’s obvious they were meant to be together.”

He shrugged a little. “Well, you’ll have to find out…tomorrow.”

“Damn it,” he sighed.

 

* * *

 

**March 15, 2067**

_Marco closed the book as he_ and Jean started eating their lunch. They were currently at the part where they had their first time, since things were moving along pretty slowly. It was good though, because Jean was becoming more curious and seemed to be more alert and paid better attention to the story. This made Marco feel a little proud.

Carrie then walked over to them as they ate.

“Mr. Bodt,” she said, “your children are here to see you.”

Marco smiled at hearing her. He knew they would make it. “Great. Tell them to come here.”

“Right away.” Carrie then walked off.

Jean tilted his head. “You have kids?”

He nodded and smiled. “I have two. Their names are Alexandra and Theo.”

“Oh, nice names. Do you have grandkids?”

“Yes, but they are away. I would have loved it if they came though.”

“Dad.”

Marco glanced up when being addressed. He saw his children—no, _their_ children—and he smiled as he beckoned them over. “Over here.”

The two of them moved closer, and they smiled at both of their fathers. Theo’s grin faltered a bit though when looking at Jean. Meanwhile, he just smiled and waved back at them.

“Hi, there,” he smiled. “I’m Jean.”

“Hi, Jean.” Alexandra smiled and they shook hands. Marco could tell that she did not like doing this, that she just wanted to hug her dad tight because she missed him so much. Theo did the same, and with the same desire to just hold Jean close.

“I was just telling Jean about you guys, too,” Marco insisted.

Theo looked at the book on the table. “You’re reading him that silly old thing?” He was just playing along. Theo knew that he read it to Jean every single day, and he knew who exactly wrote it and who it was for.

Marco nodded. “It’s not silly. It’s a good story.”

“Sure, Dad,” his daughter mumbled, even though she personally really did love the story.

Carrie came back over to them. “Mr. Kirschtein, it’s time for your bath.”

Jean sighed heavily. “Come on, Carrie. I wanted to see Marco’s kids.”

“You can see them next time,” she assured him and then helped him up.

“It was nice meeting you guys,” Jean told his own children.

They both just nodded and watched him. After he left, Alexandra looked like she was about to cry. Marco stood up slowly and held onto the table for support. He hugged her carefully.

“Hey…” he whispered. “It’s okay, Ally.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like this, Dad. I don’t like having to play this act like I don’t even know him. He’s my father, for God’s sake.”

“We have to, Alexandra,” Theo muttered.

Marco looked at him. “Theo… I know that this is very hard for the both of you. But I don’t have much time left. After I go, one of you has to keep visiting him.”

“I can’t even bear the thought of losing you,” his daughter sighed as she held him.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Both of you.” He waited until they both looked at him before speaking. “I will still be there with you guys, watching over you. You two are so strong, and I know that your father and I raised you well. I want you to keep taking care of yourselves. And take care of him. Be strong for the both of us.”

They slowly nodded, and he smiled at them.

“Good… Now, I’m going to need some help getting these lilacs into Jean’s room later.”

* * *

 

**April 7, 2067**

_“…We were laughter. We were scuffling limbs and tangled bedsheets and choked out threats of withholding sex and dumping each other. None of them were true._

_“We were a stupid hat from college and a life that I had never expected._

_“We were getting married._

_“We were happy._

_“The sun broke over the edge of the mountains outside, and the light in our bedroom was gold.”_

Marco sighed deeply and closed the book. He did it. He finally finished it in one sitting, from start to finish. After eight years of desperately trying to cram it in. And he finally did it on Jean’s seventy-eighth birthday. And he felt so accomplished that he could just hold Jean in a tight embrace and kiss him right then and there. But he refrained from doing so, mainly because he was just too weak to. He could feel himself becoming so physically drained. He glanced at the time that was displayed on the wall in this small hospice room. It was seven o’clock.

“That’s the end?” Jean was looking down at the table, clenching his fist weakly.

Marco nodded. “That’s the end, Jean.”

“And then they get married?”

He smiled. “Yes. They get married, Jean. And they have two beautiful children together.”

“Alexandra and Theo…”

Marco figured that he was just saying that because of the story. Their names were mentioned in there. “Yes.”

“And they will spend many years together, sharing wonderful memories and loving every minute of it just for the sake that they shared them together.”

He looked up and nodded, but he froze when noticing that Jean’s sinking face was tear-stained.

“…Jean?”

There was a spark in Jean’s eyes when he looked at him. It clicked. He knew. This was it. He finally remembered. He knew he did. He could tell by the relief and realization that flooded his entire expression.

“M-Marco,” he gasped.

He smiled shakily and shifted closer. They hugged each other close. Jean was so frail, and it broke Marco’s heart. His condition took such a toll on him, and he was just barely holding on. As was he, since Marco now counted down how many days he had left on Earth. How many days he had left with Jean.

“That Jean character was me,” he whispered. “It was me this whole time.”

Marco smiled as he nodded. “Yes, Jean. It was you. That story I read to you was the story of your life. What we had together.”

“I’m so sorry that I left you like this,” he sighed. “I am such a terrible husband. I promised to love you—”

“And you always have,” he insisted. Marco still had a small smile on his face.

They gave each other a soft, gentle kiss, their first kiss in eight years. Their embrace was brief, since both could barely last a few seconds without even so much as holding their breaths, and even after they pulled back, they stayed sitting next to each other with arms plagued by arthritis tangled around each other.

“How are our kids?” Jean asked.

“They’re fine,” he assured him with a smile. “They miss you, but they still love you so much.”

“And I love them.” Jean kept close to Marco, and he sighed as his husband rubbed his bony back. “I wish I didn’t have to stay here. I want to go back home with you.”

“I know,” Marco whispered.

There was a minute of silence, and they just continued holding each other.

“I love you,” Jean murmured. “I love you, Marco… My… Wait… W-what…?”

Marco froze. He looked at his husband quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Jean’s eyes were traveling around the room, studying and examining. He kept staring at Marco’s arms, and his calm breath then quickened from panic. “What? What’s going on?”

“Jean…” He slowly pulled back and watched him.

He stared at Marco with wide eyes. “W-who are you?”

His weakening heart broke right then and there. He said those same words eight years ago, those same exact words that were tinged with fear and anxiety.

“Jean,” he said slowly, “J-Jean, it’s me.”

“Who are you?” he demanded, his words slightly slurred. “G-get away from me!”

Marco flinched but did as he was told. “B-but Jean—”

“Stay away from me!” Jean rasped, getting up from his seat and holding onto his cane tightly. His eyes were watering from how scared and confused he was. “Don’t touch me!”

An aid came into the room. “What’s going on in here?”

“This man was touching me!”

Marco cringed at being referred to as “this man.” That was all he was when Jean was in this mental state: “this man.” Not his husband, not his sweetheart. He was “this man.”

“I apologize,” Marco whispered. “It will never happen again, sir.”

The aid moved closer and just nodded, since he knew who Marco was. Everyone knew who he was at this point, after seeing him almost every single day for eight years.

“Come on, Mr. Kirschtein,” the aid then assured the distraught elder. “I’ll take you back to your room, okay? Just calm down. We’ll make sure that he doesn’t bother you again.”

Marco watched them leave as the tears quickly flowed. His heart had been broken a few times already during this relationship, but this time was the worst. It was the absolute worst. It hurt so much more than he thought it ever would. He was shaking as he wiped his eyes.

“Jean…” he rasped and his throat tightened.

He was so close, _so_ close. He couldn’t believe how close he was. He could just see the sense of reassurance and gratitude, but he could not feel it. He couldn’t grasp it. And Marco had almost no time left. But he couldn’t give up. Not now. Not like this. He was going to use every bone and breath in his body to make sure that he reached his goal, that he got to spend more time with his husband as he should than just those moments where he had to pretend they were absolute strangers.

 

* * *

 

 _Marco could barely walk now. It_ took so much energy to just hold the floral arrangement of Chrysanthemums in his hand. This was his way of saying goodbye. He had no more time left. He needed to do this one last thing before he left, before he had to face his fate.

He put the solemn flowers next to the Wisteria he had placed in here yesterday. He took a deep but silent breath, and he held onto the windowsill.

Meanwhile, Jean was stirring without him realizing. He was alert. He had such a better shot at remembering because it was in the dead of night, where he was left to think. His mind had wandered, and when he opened his eyes and glanced over at the windowsill, he knew exactly who he was looking at. He was looking at the one that he had loved ever since he was a freshman in college, the one that he had been married to for over fifty years. A small smile was on the faltering man’s face.

“Sweetheart…”

Marco froze at hearing the voice. He glanced over at Jean slowly. Did he just…

_He called me sweetheart._

His dying heart began to swell. He walked over to Jean and smiled weakly at him. “Jean…”

“Marco,” he breathed shakily. “My sweetheart.”

He lied down next to him on the bed. Their next action was instantaneous. They slowly hugged each other, their joints creaking, and they stayed close together. Nothing was keeping them apart now. Nothing.

“I love you, Jean,” Marco rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He couldn’t stop saying it now that they started. “I am yours.”

They kissed each other weakly, their smiles feeble. They held hands, their aging fingers intertwined with each other’s.

“I am yours today,” Marco whispered.

Jean sighed softly and closed his eyes. “I am yours every day.”

Soon Marco closed his eyes, his breath faltering. He was starting to lose consciousness. But just before he did, the two of them both breathed out in unison as darkness overcame them.

_“I am yours forever.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I pulled it off so that it ended sixty years after the year they first met. And now I am going to go in the corner and think about life. I am crying right now, you don't understand.
> 
> Have anything to say about Chrysanthemum? On tumblr, I will be tracking these tags:  
> #fic: chrysanthemum  
> #stop flute 2k14


End file.
